Page 4 of Rivals

Sam pressed her face against the window. As their plane sank toward the private airstrip, she noticed a bright red SUV parked alongside the runway. A tall Black man leaned against the door with deceptive casualness, wearing commercial-grade headphones and sunglasses.

“Marshall’s here!” Nina exclaimed, staring out her own window.

“I told him not to pick me up at the airport,” Sam replied, though she was grinning.

“This isn’t just picking you up at the airport; it’s meeting your plane. He will be there right as our door opens.” Nina’s eyes met Sam’s. “I know you’re not a romantic, but for the record, this is an expert-level romantic gesture.”

Sam pretended to scoff, though her heart wasn’t in it.

Not a romantic.That used to be true, but not anymore.

Marshall tugged at Sam’s wrist, pulling her onto the back porch. Row upon row of vines receded into the distance, their pale green grapes peeking out from beneath waxy leaves. “Come on, my little polpetta!”

Sam gave a breathless laugh.“Polpetta?”Ever since she and Marshall had started dating, he’d called her an increasingly ridiculous series of nicknames—panda bear, Skittle, lovemuffin.

“It’s Italian for ‘meatball,’ ” Marshall explained. “I ran out of nicknames in English, so I looked up some in other languages. To be fair, I don’t actually know ifpolpettais a romantic nickname or what parents call their babies,” he added. Sam couldn’t help but smile.

As they started down a gravel path, the wind pricked at Sam’s arms. Seeing her shiver, Marshall unzipped his fleece and handed it over. She laughed when she saw the orange T-shirt he wore beneath, the wordsstate championshipswritten above a cartoon grizzly bear.

“You do realize that your shirt has a hole in it. Multiple holes,” she amended, tugging at a rip along the hem.

“Hey, this shirt is arelic! It’s not like I can go to championships again to get another one. My high school water polo career is over.” Marshall sighed in mock sorrow.

“If only I’d known you then. I clearly missed out on your glory days.” Sam tilted her head. “Do you think we would’ve liked each other, if we’d met in high school?”

“I doubt it. You wouldn’t have put up with my shenanigans.”

“Like what?”

“You know, stupid guy stuff. Driving the Jeep when I was fourteen, skipping school and heading to the beach, playing beer pong with the Orange State Cab. Fun fact: red wine and beer pong donotmix,” he added.

It didn’t sound all that different from what Jeff and his friends used to do. Except— “What’s the Orange State Cab?”

“My family has been growing the same cabernet for over a hundred years. We always serve it at official state functions. You didn’t drink any at Accession Day?” Marshall asked.

Sam made a face. Red wine was such anold peopledrink.

Seeing her expression, he laughed. “Come on. You have to at least try some.”

Marshall led Sam farther down the path, to an enormousbrick structure. “The crush facility,” he explained, when one entire side of the building retracted upward like a garage door.

Lights flicked on at their arrival, illuminating rows of massive steel cylinders, each affixed with a label:pinot noir lot12orridge property merlot. Marshall grabbed a paper cup from a nearby water cooler; then they wove through the tanks until they reached one labeledosc. He turned a spigot, filling the cup with a dark purple liquid.

Sam took an eager sip—and nearly spat it onto the floor.

“Whatisthat?” she gasped, thrusting the cup back toward Marshall. The wine burned her throat so fiercely that she could practically feel it in her eyes.

“Yeah, it’s not quite ready to drink. It’ll be smoother once the fermentation is done.” Marshall shrugged, then tipped back the rest of the cup and drained it in a single gulp.Show-off,Sam thought affectionately.

“I can’t believe you and your friends played beer pong with this,” she told him.

“I was a teenage boy. My body could run for days on monster tacos and adrenaline.”

“Right, because you’re so much older and wiser now.” Sam glanced around the crush facility, amused. “So, this was your go-to move? You invited girls here for a ‘private tasting’ of your family’s wine?”

“Please. High school Marshall had zero moves.” His tone softened, grew more serious. “You’re the first girl I’ve brought to the Napa house. You know that, right?”

There was an eager swoop in Sam’s chest. She squeezed his hand in answer, not sure she trusted herself to say the right thing.